by Ruth Kaufman
Morgan and Ninian looked at each other and shrugged.
“Enough. I have work to do.” Ninian flowed behind the counter and took a jar of cloves off a shelf. She consulted a piece of parchment lying nearby, then scooped some of the dried buds onto a set of scales. After making adjustments until she had the desired amount, she proceeded to grind them using a mortar and pestle. Their pungent smell filled the air.
Morgan turned to Ninian. He opened his arms wide, much as Jesus had done on the Cross. “Try to kill me.”
Annora’s head spun. With all the thoughts carousing in her mind, she must not’ve heard correctly.
“Get a knife. Not your biggest, but one of a goodly size,” he continued. “Stab me in the heart.”
“If you insist,” Ninian replied. “But I don’t see why you’re going to all this trouble for her. Annora chooses not to believe. This may only make matters worse.”
“Do it.”
Ninian extracted a thin knife with a bone handle from beneath the counter. She bent down, reappearing with a small piece of fabric and a towel. She folded the cloth over the knife, then pulled. The knife sliced it cleanly in two.
“Sharp as can be. Now?” she asked, holding the knife in one hand and the towel in the other.
“Now.” Morgan walked toward her. They met in front of Annora. With the blade pointed at Morgan’s chest.
Morgan pulled his tunic over his head. “No sense wasting good cloth,” he said.
Now she knew they were both mad for certain, though both seemed calm and intent on their mission. Suddenly she wondered if this was how she’d appeared to the people of Amberton when she asked them, begged them to help her. Had she acted normal but sounded mad to them, evincing the subtlest form of lunacy?
“No!” Annora cried. “Dear God, no.”
“Either you want proof, or you don’t,” Morgan said, his expression grim. “Which is it?”
“I want to believe. More than anything. But—”
“Will you accept our proof? Or do you truly think I’m lunatic enough to sacrifice myself in Ninian’s shop?”
* * *
Morgan felt ten times the fool for resorting to such dramatic measures to win Annora’s trust. He’d accompanied her to London knowing what Ninian would say and that learning the apothecary was also an immortal would only confuse Annora further.
Annora had told him Roger’s betrayal and God’s supposed disregard of her prayers made her doubt her religion, but he’d seen her praying. No matter how tired she was, she’d kneel, close her eyes and fold her hands. She’d remain motionless, like an image from a painting, immersed in her devotion to her God. He’d felt peace and hope flowing from her. A Christian couldn’t accept his immortality, much less his remarkable powers.
Ninian was right. He’d expended too much time and effort already, and all for a mortal woman who’d soon be out of his life. He’d wanted Annora to believe him, to know him as he really was, as no other woman had in dozens of years. Now he had to accept that dream could never be. He’d take her to Amberton and leave her without a backward glance. No matter the ache in his heart.
’Twas for the best.
“Shall I, Annora?” Ninian repeated. She raised the knife over her head.
“Do it, then,” Annora whispered. Color drained from her face. “It’s the only way.”
Morgan nodded, preparing himself to abolish the pain. He watched Annora as Ninian stabbed him in the chest. The impact sent him reeling into the counter as the sharp scent of his blood reached his nose.
“Morgan!” Annora screamed. She hopped off her stool.
“I’m fine. No lasting harm done.”
“There, do you see?” Ninian asked. “He lives. All will soon be well.”
Ninian yanked out the knife.
That hurt. Blood flowed down his chest, hot and red.
“Take this.” Ninian blocked his view of Annora as she handed him the towel. “No sense making a mess. Annora, did that suffice? Do you believe us now?”
They turned to her. She’d collapsed into a heap on the floor.
“By the Grail,” Morgan swore as he knelt by her side, clutching the towel to his wound.
“I knew this was a mistake,” Ninian said. “’Twas too much for her. Mortals are as carefully trained to shun our oddities as we are trained to cherish them.”
“I thought she wanted to know me as I am.”
“What mortal truly wants to know us? Let me bind the wound or you’ll bleed all over her,” Ninian insisted.
“In a minute.” He lifted her head onto his lap with his free hand. The boy’s hat tumbled off. He stroked her beautiful hair.
“I hoped she’d be different. That we’d grown close enough to…. Well, no sense dwelling. Annora, wake up. I’m alive.”
She didn’t budge.
Ninian fluttered like a butterfly, removing the bloody towel, cleansing his wound with some foul-smelling mixture, applying a hot poultice and wrapping a secure bandage around him. All while Annora lay on his lap, still and pale.
Ninian handed him his tunic. Slowly, so as not to disturb his bandages or Annora, he put it on.
“Look what we’ve done,” he said.
“She asked for it. ’Tis no more than she deserved.”
“Ninian, how can you be so harsh?”
“Annora wants you, but obviously isn’t satisfied with what you’ve been willing to share. She must’ve pouted prettily or employed some other ruse and you fell for it. Typical woman.”
“She’s already had me.”
“So that’s the way of things.” Ninian paused, then continued. “I hope you know what you’re doing. ’Tis not like you to let a little thing like her sway you from the path. How does she feel about you? Just because you’re fool enough to sleep with her doesn’t mean—. Oh, Morgan. Please, please tell me you’re not falling in love with her.”
“I don’t know if I am,” he admitted as he smoothed her hair off her face. “What does it feel like to love? I’ve never known it. I thought I loved the woman who wasn’t my mother. I respected my father, though I couldn’t love him because he abandoned me. Annora is special. She draws me like no other.”
He couldn’t love her. She was mortal.
“As you were never drawn to me, more’s the pity,” Ninian said from behind the counter as she put away extra bandages. “And I’ve known you for hundreds of years.”
“You’ll find your mate when the time is right. Annora said she needed more knowledge because we’d been intimate. I burned to share the truth, to have her know the real me.” So pretty, even in repose. But her features were sure to twist into disbelief once more when she awoke, twisting his heart along the way.
“Don’t let her be your Achilles heel. Either she believes you and you go on as you were for the few days you have left, or she won’t and we’ll find someone else to escort her to Amberton. What’s the difference? Either way, she’ll be safe and back at home, and you’ll continue on your journey.”
Morgan twined a piece of her reddish brown hair around his finger. “There is a difference. I hoped to give her what pleasure I could, but instead brought more fear and suffering to her. And confusion.” He held up a hand. “Don’t. Don’t preach to me about misery always being the result when we mix with mortals.”
“Your greatest flaw, Morgan, is thinking you’re different from all immortals who’ve gone before. Despite Arthur. Despite your father…both weak and lacking discipline no matter how powerful their positions, how great their skill and intelligence. Or perhaps because of those them. Instead of accepting what can’t be changed and working on what can, you fight a losing battle.”
The last thing Morgan needed now was a scolding. Ninian’s flaw was always thinking she knew what was best for everyone else.
“Are you listening to me?” Ninian demanded.
Annora moaned. “What happened?”
She sat up so fast she almost clipped him on the chin.
Lie
, and tell her nothing but a bad reaction to the meat pies they’d for their mid-day meal, or deal with the reality of his being stabbed and surviving?
Ninian shrugged.
Honesty. Only because he knew Annora would prefer it, no matter how hard for her to accept. Maybe there was a way to leave the decision to Annora.
“What do you remember?” he asked.
“Arriving at the shop, then fainting. I feel fine now, but I had the most awful dream that Ninian stabbed you with that knife on her counter.”
The moment of truth.
Morgan wavered. One corner of Ninian’s mouth raised slightly. Annora’s brow wrinkled, as if she tried to figure out what made her faint. He could agree she’d had an awful dream and never discuss his immortality with her again.
Sometimes lies caused less pain than candor. But how would he sleep at night?
“Wait. It’s coming back to me,” she said. “My God. Ninian stabbed you. But you’re alive. Let me see your chest.”
With a sigh, Morgan lifted his tunic and the bandage. Because Ninian had treated it so quickly and thoroughly, the blood had dried and the wound was healing. Annora’s fingers skimmed over the remaining mark, sending a jolt to his loins.
Damn him, he wanted Annora still. Even though she didn’t believe him when he revealed one of his deepest secrets. Even though she was a mortal. Why did his training, his capability for restraint desert him when she was near?
Annora’s eyes widened. “Amazing.” She ran to the counter and, with obvious awe, picked up the still-wet knife Ninian had left on a bloodstained towel. “How did you do that? What a most excellent mummer’s trick. Better than any I’ve ever seen.” She set down the knife. “But why? As you said, Ninian, why would you go to such lengths to fabricate a bizarre past?”
Morgan was at a rare loss for words. For once Ninian looked surprised, too. Annora thought they’d played a trick on her. Her expression was open, trusting. She yet expected a reasonable explanation.
When he had none to give.
As he’d feared, she wasn’t capable of understanding things outside her realm.
If wanting to change what couldn’t be changed was his greatest flaw, believing only what she’d been taught was hers. Even when she had proof that what she’d been told wasn’t true.
“Will one of you say something?” she asked, her lips pressed together and arms folded.
Annora had been right about one thing. To really know him, she did need information about his past. But she also had to believe. Clearly she couldn’t change who she was in order to accept him as he was.
A mixture of sadness and relief that they’d soon part flooded him. She couldn’t acknowledge his immortality, or comprehend his special talents. That lack surpassed the usual difficulties that arose in relationships between mortals and immortals.
But she was so giving, so beautiful, so determined to rise above the odds she faced.
So perfectly made to be in his arms.
* * *
Morgan and Ninian were uncannily silent. As if they’d lost their tongues.
What just happened? Annora couldn’t believe Morgan had been stabbed with a real knife. Fear and panic had pierced her at the sight, the thought of the man she—cared for and remained attracted to dying. Leaving her forever.
Yet he hadn’t.
No man could recover so rapidly from such a wound. But Morgan and Ninian insisted they were immortal. She’d read many books, but never heard of such people existing. Of course, there were many more books, countries she’d never visited.
Confusion and frustration mingled. “It was a trick. It had to be. Why?”
Ninian shook her head. “There’s nothing more we can say. Acceptance is too uncomfortable for you, so your mind won’t acknowledge what your eyes have seen. You’ve made your choice in thinking we’re mere pranksters.”
Morgan looked stern, yet she detected an underlying current of hurt. “The truth can be difficult to comprehend. When and if you do, let me know. Otherwise, I ask you to stop asking questions we’ve already answered. I believed you. Why can’t you believe me?”
“I haven’t done anything to prove I’m a lunatic. You have.”
“I expected more of you. Hmmph. Stupid mortals.” Ninian returned to grinding cloves. The scent reminded Annora of home when her mother was alive, yet also represented all she couldn’t seem to obtain. “You’d best be on your way. I have work to do. Customers to serve.”
Annora felt as though she’d failed a test. Worse, she knew she’d lost a friend. Morgan’s expression was grim. Two friends. One lover.
He unlocked and opened the door.
Ninian called out, “I had my hopes you could make it work, Morgan. That you could foment change for our kind. Now we know. You must wait for the one.”
“The one” again. Perhaps she’d imagined that the three of them had grown close. She’d always been on the outside. And would be glad to be free of their cryptic looks and conversations.
Ninian and Morgan believed what they’d told her. Could she believe? Did things exist that her priests, her parents and books were unaware of?
The chasm between her and Morgan had never been deeper. Until she accepted his outrageous tales, they were finished. He wouldn’t touch her again, wouldn’t look at her the way she loved that made her feel so special.
But after searching within, she just couldn’t believe. If her own people disdained her tales of her uncle’s wickedness when they saw her bruises and knew he’d locked her away against her will, how could she believe Morgan was the son of Merlin and an immortal Knight of the Round Table?
Chapter 14
Morgan shut the door. “I have another idea.”
He ought to let it and her go. But he wanted to part friends, not mired in misunderstanding. He needed to see her smile again, read fondness in her gaze. Perhaps make love with her again, and have another memory to cherish. Now he sounded like a lovesick fool.
Like Merlin.
“What more can we do when your getting stabbed in the chest wasn’t enough? She’s nothing out of the ordinary,” Ninian scoffed. “Our race is beyond her ken. Fulfill your promise, then be done with her.”
Ninian had spoken his thoughts. But instinct made him persist despite doubts. “I want to take her to the Gathering. It’s not far out of our way, you and I need to go in any case, and—”
His friend recoiled. “You can’t. No mortal has ever attended.”
“There’s a first time for everything. You said I should foment change.”
“Not this way. I thought we’d have finished helping her by then. Think of the consequences. She’s not worth it.”
Not to Ninian.
“Hello,” Annora said with a wave. “I may be a stupid mortal, but I can hear you. Why can’t mortals attend what you called a family event?”
Did she finally understand? Morgan’s heart lifted.
Her hand flew up to cover her mouth. “Wait. That made it sound like I believe immortals exist. I meant…never mind.”
His limbs felt heavy as he turned to her. Had the knife wound taken more of a toll than it should, or was he that sad? “You think we’re trying to deceive you for some reason. Maybe even play upon your fear that Roger is right about your wits. Perhaps that’s not so difficult for two people to do. But if I took you to see more than twenty immortals, would you believe? Or would you think I’d go to the trouble and had the wherewithal to summon so many to do my bidding?”
“I…I don’t know. If such things were true, if immortals existed, wouldn’t I have heard of them before now?”
“Ha.” Ninian’s face was closed and hard. “Take your reaction after spending time in our company and getting to know us. Multiply your doubt, your fear, by the majority of those on Earth. Consider the power of the Church and the king to crush whatever beliefs or peoples they disagree with. That’s why you haven’t heard of us. And Merlin’s and King Arthur’s downfalls—the best of the best—are per
fect examples of why we don’t often share who we are.”
His friend, too, had suffered prejudice. Bringing this up at all had been a bad idea. Ninian was right. He’d gone out on a limb, but Annora still didn’t believe. His feelings for her kept getting under his guard.
“Very well,” Annora said softly. “I’ll go to this Gathering.”
Neither she nor Ninian looked very happy about her decision.
* * *
Give his beliefs a chance. Morgan wouldn’t lie to you. Annora repeated the words like a prayer as they approached Winchester, where supposedly the sword in the stone and Camelot had been. Where Arthur, according to legend, proved victorious at the Battle of Camlann. How can the things he says be real?
The sight of the cathedral’s twin spires soaring over the stone walls reminded her. They can’t.
Morgan kneed his horse and rode to her side. “The Gathering is held at the Round Table, of course. Which is in the castle.”
“Where else would it be?”
Her mouth was dry, surely from road dust. Not the prospect of meeting fictional characters supposedly come to life. Or men portraying fictional characters, inviting her to partake of their playacting. She’d seen the Corpus Christi mystery plays in York, where guilds on decorated pageant wagons portrayed Biblical events such as creation and the Last Supper. Their purpose was more to entertain than educate, but people came from miles around to see them.
“You’ll see the current version with your own eyes. Built during the reign of Edward I.”
“It has room for twenty-five knights,” Ninian added. “With one seat left open for our king.”
She tugged at the neck of her borrowed blue gown. There’d be a large, round table, of that she had no doubt. How would she know it was the table, supposedly created so Arthur would share equal seating with his men? Could it exist?
Stable boys took their horses in the castle bailey. Servants went about their tasks, lords and ladies garbed like those she’d seen at Edward’s court, in fine fabrics and sparkling jewels, strolled in a grassy area.
The vast great hall reminded her of a church, with stone pillars supporting many high arches. Even the cool, damp air smelling of faint spices seemed rarified. Sure enough, in the center was a huge round table. Raised, swirled carvings dominated the center. Three seats were empty. For Morgan, Ninian and King Arthur?
